


26 Strings

by Catchinglikekerosene



Category: Open Heart (Visual Novels)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:55:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26066833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchinglikekerosene/pseuds/Catchinglikekerosene
Summary: Joanna Marie Milner is 27 years old, and life keeps happening. She was never meant to be a doctor, but something has led her down this unknown winding road to Edenbrook Hospital. Now, she’s desperately trying to figure adulthood out for herself; pushing against the mold her parents laid out for her, falling in love a few handful of times, and facing many ethical dilemmas head on. Has she made the right decisions along the way?This is a collab series with @ aylamwrites
Relationships: Bryce Lahela/Main Character (Open Heart), Ethan Ramsey/Main Character (Open Heart)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So excited to finally bring Joanna into the fandom. We’ve been having so much fun with this collab, I can’t wait to hear what y’all think! As we said before there will be 26 chapters in addition to the prologue and epilogue 😁

Never in my life would I have thought I’d end up here. 

Here in Boston, miles away from home, turning my dream of working for Edenbrook Hospital into a reality. I was here, as _the youngest_ person in the history of Edenbrook to be employed on the nationally renowned and elite Diagnostics team. And I was here in the dead of night, wrapped up in comfortable silky sheets as the most beautiful man I’ve ever met lay peacefully around me. 

I don’t know how I made it here. 

Hell, my parents made it perfectly clear that they didn’t want me to spend my entire “youthful years” in school - four of undergrad, four of medical, and then whatever I’d choose to specialize in. They wanted me to be dutiful, yet strong, sociable yet reserved. The perfect politician’s daughter. Except, we weren’t a family of politicians. 

I was not created to be a doctor. 

I was meant to be my twin sister’s competitor, my father’s redemption, my overextended mother’s emotional outlet, and my brother’s biggest fan.

I was groomed to be a part of the exclusive New York City social class - as a corporate lawyer’s eldest daughter I was meant to fill a pivotal role in my father’s American Dream. Social climbing to reclaim a materialistic delusion. A twenty-something trophy destined for the arm of an esteemed financial advisor, Wall Street broker, or CEO… 

Every decision, every choice I have ever made was criticized. I wasn’t actively pushing against my parents wishes but something didn’t feel right. This black sheep was meant for something greater, something _different_. I was stumbling through my inauspicious life without a compass, hoping I made the right turns. 

_Did I?_

I’m still not too sure. The only certainty I know is Edenbrook was where I needed to be. 

_Was I always destined for this?_

It sure feels like it. Like somehow across space and time there were these little strings reeling me in. Like a larger force was guiding me along an unknown path to eternal happiness.

As a woman of science, I never really understood the concept of soulmates but certainly here, in the arms of this man, I’ve never felt it more. Boston. Edenbrook. Diagnostics. Him. I’ve been connected with them in ways I could never even imagine.

Sleeping used to be easy. Most nights I could drift off in the comfort of my bedroom, my ruthless thoughts romanticizing what he’d be doing and what we could be if we were together. Tonight his arms were wrapped around my bare body, his placid exhales caressing the skin at the base of my neck. It’d been _months_ since we could so easily be like this. His embrace used to put me in a place of utter peace and pure comfort - like a baby swaddled. 

_Why wasn’t it bringing me tranquility tonight?_

The moon peered through the flimsy blind shielding us from the business of Boston’s reality, illuminating us in a pale lust. The midnight air glowed under the few stars, endless traffic passed us by and the harsh urban skyline reminded me that I was actually _here_. 

I restlessly curled closer to his warmth, inhaling the mix of our musks and recalled every little thing that brought me to this decision. 

The little strings that drew me _here_.


	2. Anatomy

I was in the 10th grade when the public education system forced us to dissect an animal in living environment class. 

**_Anatomy_ ** ; the first string that pulled me here.

That was the first time I really recognized my keen interest in the way internal systems work. Looking back on that event now, over a decade later, the old wrinkly fetal pigs were  _ disgusting. _ But back then it was the coolest thing I could get my forcibly manicured hands on. 

It was the first time I realized that just because me and my sister shared the exact same DNA -  _ just because  _ we were each other’s mirror image, it didn’t mean we shared the same anatomy or mental capacity. The insurgency in the webs of our genetic code didn’t change the fact that the two of us are two different bonds of anatomy.

It was the first time I understood that my entire state of being would be rearranged, degutted, and dissected by my own curiosity and hindrance.

I would never be the same. 

**Flashback**

“Today you will be dissecting a fetal pig!” my living environment teacher announced, as she pulled the dinghy white spotted tarp cover off of her lab bench, revealing an array of dead pigs on silver trays waiting for us to slice open. It only added to the truly horrific smell of stale crap and harsh chemicals mixed together in the poorly ventilated classroom. 

Dissection day was the assessment that any high schooler was either looking forward to like Christmas in July, or dreading like running the mile in Gym on an 80-degree day. I, myself, was pretty eager to get my hands dirty, but Grace regarded it with extreme trepidation. She went so far as trying to convince Mom that she was sick, using the heated thermometer trick and everything.

I was walking through the cramped, grossly lit hallway of George Washington Preparatory High School after my successful third period dissection. 

My best friend and subsequent lab partner, Ross, decided to ditch and leave me with the task at hand. I can’t really remember if I minded - I was always the weird quiet girl, sat in the second row of lab benches, doing the project alone. Ross was a curly haired and aloof type of boy who would always be instructed to sit right beside the teachers’ desk. He was the class clown. He taught me a lot throughout our close relationship.

I was walking from my locker in between periods when a firm hand on my forearm violently pulled me to the side of the stairwell at the end of the hallway, scaring the living daylights out of me. I was generally a quiet kid that kept to herself. For a split second I thought someone was mistaking me for Grace and I was about to get into a serious altercation by the way this person’s nails dug into my skin.

“What the-“ I turned to see my rueful face staring back at me -  _ Grace _ was my kidnapper. 

“Shut up!” She seethed not-so-quietly. Before I knew it I was being dragged by the arm into the tiny, grimey 3-stalled bathroom with nonsensical sharpie graffiti illegibly scribbled on the metal. 

Grace finally loosened her grip when she was sure we were alone. 

“What do you want?” I sneered, rubbing the three red indents that were sure to bruise.

She flicked her long dark hair over her shoulder, “We have to switch classes.” 

“What? Why?” 

Grace’s eyes narrowed as she chided, “I am NOT about to cut open a dead pig. I’m a  _ vegan _ .” 

My brows furrowed and nose scrunched as I took in my sister before me. Her hands laid on her hips confidently, whilst I had my arms crossed over my chest.

“No you’re not,” 

“As of two weeks ago!” she corrected me.

I let out a disbelieving laugh, “You can’t just ‘become vegan’. You  _ literally _ ate chicken last night-“

Grace was quick to finish, “I’m still in the testing faze.” She had a displeased smirk on her foundation caked face.

“I’m not going to switch classes with you,” I shook my head. “It’s not that bad, you know.” I readjusted the grey backpack that hung on my shoulder and started walking towards the industrial door, but she grasped me by the back of my t-shirt. I glanced at the rose gold Michael Kors watch on my left wrist, the five minutes between periods was swiftly wearing down and I  _ so  _ did not want to be late for World History.

“I’ll do your chores for a week.” She bargained, her large green eyes staring into my soul, giving me an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

With a roll of my eyes I scoffed, “You don’t even do your own chores.” 

“Jo _ anna _ ,” she put emphasis on the last two syllables just like Mom did whenever she chastened me. “Come on, don’t be such a bitch and just switch with me! Please?” 

There was something vulnerable about the way Grace was looking at me. She was always considered the stronger sister, mainly because she had the lewd mouth to go with it. Dad  _ always _ rewarded her gumption. Her speckled eyes made me feel like there was more to the story besides an old pig. 

I discharged a heavy breath, taking a few small steps backwards and crossing my arms over my chest. “What do I get out of this?” 

“Learning experience.”

“No thanks-”

“You actually like this shit!” she all but yelled into the void, throwing her arms high into the air. “Please?” she whined with a jut of her bottom lip. The corner of her glossed lips twitched when she said, “I have a $20 Chipotle gift card.” Her eyebrows raised excitedly as she presented her bribe, as if she thought I’d agree to her offer.  My dainty index finger tapped my chin, scrutinizing her and considering all I’ve learned from my negotiation lessons with Dad. “Make it the $35 Amazon gift card you got last week and you have yourself a deal.“ My eyebrows flicked up in a devious smile, the same way her manipulative self would if the tables were turned.

She let out a huff of air. 

“Get in,” she sighed, pointing to the stall in front of us, as she stomped into the one beside it.

Grace wasted not one second of the remaining three minutes of break, stripping her clothes off faster than I ever thought possible. A pile of clothes were chucked over the stall divider just as I began unbuttoning my jeans. Startled, I quickly caught the ball of clothes right before it was about to plummet into the toilet seat. Her dress and undershirt fit a little baggier on me, and for another time in my life I felt inadequate in my 4-minute younger sister’s shadow. Although we’re identical twins, puberty was blossoming for her, while I had yet to reap its rewards.

I walked out of the stall to find my mirror image from just 2 minutes ago standing in front of me, a bit more put together than I could ever be. Grace was dabbing at her make up trying to lessen its effects so she could pass as me a bit better.

I ran my fingers through my wavy hair, mimicking her sleek shine. “Try not to speak in Mr. Hendricks’ class. He’ll know something’s up.“ I instructed as I smoothed her short dress out over my thighs.

Our identical green eyes met in the reflection. Grace had proper posture and a presence, everyone always knew when she was in the room. We stood at the same height with the same features and yet I’ve always felt invisible in her wake. 

She flashed me her signature goody smile, “Thank you!” 

Grace leaned over to kiss my temple and skipped off, already failing at being me. 

***

I sat in Grace’s science class ready to dissect my second baby pig of the day. The rusted silver tray sat in front of me as the teacher droned on about protocol and incision techniques, the exact same speech I heard earlier that day but from someone else. Instead of listening to Miss. Wilcox ramble, I ventured ahead and made the first incision, cutting right in the middle of the chest along the sternum. 

I went into auto-pilot, using my knowledge from earlier and keen curiosity to explore the animal’s internal structure. Like earlier, my lab partner didn’t care enough to participate, instead she took to doodling on the lab result sheet instead. 

Exactly like last period, we had to remove the small organs and identify them correctly to earn ourselves a passing grade. I continued minding my own business, moving ahead of the class and having my organ harvest out halfway through the period. Part of me was tempted to remove the heart just to see what the chambers looked like. The rational subconscious of second thought stopped me - I didn’t follow through because Grace definitely  _ wouldn’t _ poke around.

I tapped my pencil and doodled all over the weekly chart in my planner as I waited for the fateful bell to ring and I could go back to being  _ me _ . I flipped the pages to the rarely used month overview, and staring me in the face in purple ink and capital letters read:  **ANCIENT SOCIETY GEOGRAPHY QUIZ** . 

Grace was in my world history class. Grace is taking European history this year. 

_ I _ was bound to  _ fail _ .

My stomach folded into 40 different layers and my heart started beating erratically. One less than stellar grade and Dad was sure to kill me. Suddenly, looking over at the pile of organs between me and my partner, I had the urge to puke. My hand flew to cover my mouth, my eyes closed. Remembering something I read, I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth rubbing up and down as I mentally counted down from three. 

_ Three.  _

_ Two.  _

_ One.  _

The bell rang, and with it went a fraction of my anxiety. Although it didn’t admonish the repercussions I was bound to face later, I was glad to be going back to being Joanna. I added my tray with all the others at the back lab bench to be discarded properly before leaving this oversight behind, swearing up and down I will  _ never  _ be Grace Milner again. The impact it had on Joanna was just too much. Grace was selfish and bullish, she would never put my needs first even when stuck in my shoes. 

“Joanna,“ the teacher called as I passed by her at the blackboard to head onto AP calculus. My heart and my feet stopped working - we were  _ totally _ busted. 

“Uh... it’s Grace.” I stuttered.

“Joanna, I can tell you’re not Grace,” Miss Wilcox gave me a knowing smirk. “She would’ve put up a huge fuss and would  _ not _ have let her partner take credit for her work.”

_ shit shit shit- _

“Are... we in trouble?” 

Miss. Wilcox gave a reassuring smile, “I’ll let it slide…” If being a dutiful student had perks, this was definitely one of them. “If you want to explore anatomy, might I suggest signing up for AP Bio next year.” 

“Uh, thanks, maybe.” I responded as I scurried out of there. 

At the end of that day, I was standing in front of the mirror of our family bathroom, clad in nothing but my training bra and boyshorts before hopping in the shower. My hair tied back in a messy bun, the loose little waves cascading around my round face. My dark green eyes trailed over my lanky body with pure inadequacy.  _ Grace _ has a fuller womanly figure and proper designer bras.  _ Grace _ doesn’t get spots of acne at the base of her neck and shoulders that she needs to hide with concealer.  _ Grace’s _ hair doesn’t frizz and her green eyes could light up a room. How could identical twins be so vastly different?

I placed two fingers to my left wrist, feeling for a pulse and letting the beats fall off my tongue. 

_ One- Two- Three- Four- Five- Six- Seven- Eight- Nine- Ten.  _

The heart beats.

The heart falls.

The heart prevails…

The heart always wins.

My heart’s just not in it. 


	3. Toxic

My family wasn’t perfect. And growing up was... _ fine _ . 

I went to a decently ranked upstate private prep school and was drilled to get good grades. My parents wanted me and my two siblings to attend prestigious private colleges on academic scholarships. They coveted Columbia or St. Johns or,  _ god forbid _ , Fordham or NYU. We were only allowed to apply to inner NYC schools, except for my little brother. He would most likely have his pick of the lot; everyone, including myself, predicted he would receive an athletic scholarship. 

Even with the degradation, my parents still held onto their Upper Manhattan socialite delusion. 

We used to live in Kips Bay; that was until we were forced to move to the other side of the state when my dad lost his  _ very  _ high-paying job as a corporate lawyer. The day after he was fired, our bags were packed and we were on our way to Syracuse. We left my childhood home without the latitude to grieve the life we would be leaving behind. We didn’t even get to say goodbye to our friends or our au pair. 

Grace and I were ten and so unaware of how this would rock our comfortable world. 

Mom took the move harder than anyone else. She went from twice-weekly blowouts, patent stilettos, pearl necklaces and diamond brooches to grueling Night School. She had fallen from her carefully curated pedestal. It couldn’t have been easy for her - moving 3 kids, handling an emotionally abusive drunk, and going back to school - all happening at the drop of a dime. Thinking back, I think she beat herself up for not paying more attention to Dad’s erratic emotions and actions. Though, I also expect that she resents him, and her _ own  _ choice to marry a lawyer. In her sullen green eyes I could see she wished she could pursue that Hedge Fund manager that had lunch with her every Tuesday. 

Because of my father’s impropriety, Laura Fanning-Milner had to create a new life. Without what seemed to be much consideration, she became a nurse. Whenever we asked her why she chose that job, Mom never said she liked what she did, just that it paid well and she already had the qualifications to finish quickly. It was the easiest and most efficient option for her...for  _ us. _

My mother didn’t fall with benevolence. It’s like she had sworn that she’d spend the rest of her being prepping Grace and I to enter the immaculate, judgmental society. For some reason, my mother's standards and my personality never seemed to coincide.

______

I was standing in our small farmhouse-style kitchen after school one day, grabbing a drink and a snack when Mom’s critical cadence bounced off the stainless steel appliances.

“Joanna Marie,  _ what  _ in heaven’s earth are you wearing?” Mom mauled my cozy attire. 

“...Track pants?” Confusion swirled in my brain as I tried to think of a reason for her criticism.

“It is still daylight out. Put something proper on; and don’t wear those ripped jeans!” she chasticized. “Borrow one of Grace’s dresses, the one with the lace capped sleeves and a-line cut. The blush one! You know the one I’m talking about.” She blithered, letting out a frustrated huff when my face involuntarily scrunched in displeasure.

Dad followed into the kitchen soon after hearing my mother’s voice raise an octave. “Make an effort, will you? You don’t want your friends thinking we live like a fakakta schlup, do you?”

I gave him a narked glare, “ _ They  _ don’t  _ care _ what  _ I  _ look like.” I retorted. “They’re hanging out in the backyard with Grace; they won’t even  _ notice  _ me.” 

“You’ll never nab a decent man wearing ripped jeans and baggy clothes.” Dad spat.

Mom was quick to add, “Be more like your sister. She’s top of your class and balances that with sports and a social life. When was the last time you’d gone out on a date?” 

_ A date _ ? Who was talking about dating? I was just trying to grab a glass of apple juice before starting homework… And anyway,  _ my _ friends and I respect each other. My friends don’t care if I wear leggings, sweats or anything that isn’t tailored to perfection; they like me for  _ me _ . I don’t need the validation of their approval like Grace unwittingly receives. I want to ace my classes and get out of here as soon as physically possible. 

Before I could retort, Jullian peeked in the kitchen; 

“Hey, Jo! Wanna play ball?” Jules asked. His light eyes showed remorse and he raised his eyebrows as if signalling me to take his lifeline.

“Yeah.” I placed the Italian crystal glass back in the cabinet, briskly making my way over to the garage door. I leaped down the stairs just as Jullian went to grab a basketball from the corner of overstuffed piles of boxes. 

Once we were out front and alone Jules broke our silence. “Why do you let them talk to you like that?” he inquired.

“It’s not worth the argument.” I shrugged. “Two years left until college,” I exhaled a wary sigh, “I just need to make it until then.” 

“Gonna leave me here all alone?” He chuckled solemnly, looking up at me with his big brown eyes.

“You’ll be fine.” I shrugged as he chest-passed the ball to me. With a small scoff I added, “You're the prodigal son.” 

“Sometimes I wish I wasn’t,” He trailed, his voice low and distant. Jules eyes steadied on the pastel yellow stucco exterior of our house, as if he was considering something my naked eye couldn’t see. I dribbled the ball between my two hands for a moment, before taking a small leap and chucking the ball towards the net.

“I know.” I sighed, as the ball bounced off of the headboard and onto the dull silver cement. 

Jullian was three years younger than us, though that didn’t mean much. He matched us in every way. He was wiser than his years and I guess  _ he knew _ \- like I did - that the three Milner kids would have to grow up quickly to be able to meet their stringent parents' expectations. 

When he was only in eighth grade, Dad and the Athletic Director consorted to condition Jullian to play varsity football once he got to high school. Jules has always been good at sports and Dad wanted him to play professionally - baseball, but football is what my little brother had the passion for. Dad always commented on how Jules better hit his growth spurt early - you need to be at least 6’1 to play anything professionally, and genetics weren’t really on his side. In Dad’s eyes, Jullian could do no wrong; he didn’t need to keep his grades up, though the material all came easily to him.

When Dad would belittle me or Mom, or when he’d go on a drunk tirade, Jules was always there to stick up for us. Every time he disputed with our father, Dad put a hand on Jules’ cheek and looked his son in the eye, a devilish smirk on his chapped lips. It was a nonverabal affixation that I would never understand. 

Dad was a complicated man. He was smart, but impatient; always choosing to cut corners instead of working the hard way. He was selfish, but a ‘family-man’; he’d choose himself time and time again, except for social situations when he would change his demeanor for Mom. At least for a few hours. 

My father was a brutal drunk, rarely ever sober once we moved from Manhattan. However, his sober persona was worse than his drunken one. The alcohol withdrawal, his bloodshot eyes mixed with his grey, aging face and the suddenly unconfident, depressed attitude scared me more than his bipolar tendencies while intoxicated.

In public, Grayson Milner was the  _ perfect  _ father. Sometimes, I’d reminisce back to the time when he was still working on Madison Back when he wasn't drinking fifteen hours a day, back when he would be a  _ father _ everyday; not just for the benefit of the rumor mill. I have to pinch myself to remember the times when he took us to the movies or The Met or out to ice cream just to have some quality time with his “two precious girls”

But those memories meant nothing. The dad  _ I _ knew was dead to me long ago. 

________

“Joanna!” My father called from the living room downstairs.

I dropped my phone onto the mattress and sprinted up from my bed, “Coming!” 

I quickly hopped down the carpeted stairs, my right hand sliding down the wooden railing. I vaulted off the last step, using the bannister to slightly swing me into the seating area of the living room. “Whats up?”

The olive skin of his rounded face was redder than a tomato, his deep brown eyes were locked in a stone cold glare. “Why did you get a  _ B- _ on your history quiz?” He stood there next to the coffee table with a white sheet of paper frantically waving about in his sweaty grip.

**_Thanks, Grace._ **

She sat across from Father in his armchair, biting into a baby carrot as she watched our interaction.

“I-” I turned to Grace, my green eyes wide and pleading, desperately needing my sister to fess up and claim the swap as her idea. I was just a casualty in her relentless scheme.

“Why?” he spat in reiteration. My gaze was still on Grace but I could smell the sweet scotch lacing his toxic breath. 

Grace smirked, lazily shrugging her shoulder and moving her attention to her iPhone.

“I tried my best,” I squeaked.

“Well it certainly wasn't!” He exclaimed, as he smacked the progress report card down on the coffee table, making me flinch for just a split second.

The alcohol in the air was palpable. I could see the evening rays reflecting off the empty bottles lining the counter spaces all around the kitchen-diner and that jingled from the roar of his abrupt outburst.

“Dad,” Jullian called, rising from his spot at the kitchen table. “You’re drunk,” he sneered.

“A bottle of whiskey isn't ‘drunk’!” Dad growled, his whole body moving to match his son who towered above him by three inches. 

Dad crossed the distance between them, reaching his hard and calloused hands out to cup Jule’s cheeks. The lingering coldness of the beer bottle cooled his aged hands, making Jules flich ever so slightly on contact. My brother was used to it, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t affected. My father did what he always does - squishes his son’s cheeks, forcing his neck to craned down to meet the menacing stare of his deep eyes. They stood like that much longer than I always thought necessary, yet long enough for my father to assert dominance - to remind Jullian that he was the head of this family. It was the only sort of punishment Jullian ever really received, and it was enough to do the trick; one “hypnosis” session would keep Jules in line with Dad’s rules for a good week or two.

_______

Being a twin, my parents dubbed each one of us their own carbon copy. Grace was Mom's child, and I was Dad’s; that was until Jullian was brought into the world three years later. Grace was prepped and pampered to be a beauty queen - poised and dignified, cunning and able to diffuse situations. She could take criticism with good - well -  _ grace _ . 

Adversely, I was prepared to be academic and calculated, to dissect situations and be ready to argue my point. The irony was, I didn’t get the confrontation gene - that went to Grace as well. Grace got all the good attributes and I just kind of… existed. 

We’d go to monotonous social events and our parents would pass Grace around, introducing her to everyone with the proudest of smiles while I stayed the conscientious daughter fixed at my father's side. I was always the one to fuck up and do something stupid that would embarass our family. Always the one who would be scolded and lectured during the car rides home. Always the one who had to hide her true self for the sake of our family’s  _ reputation _ . 

I was the twin who was never as good enough as the image smirking back at me. 

______

On prom night, Grace had not one, but  _ two  _ dates.

Aaron Burtiss and Leo Nomes; two of the proclaimed “hottest” males at George Washington Preparatory High School. 

For some insane reason, Grace wanted to get rid of Aaron. If I was her, I’d be trying to pass off Leo onto an unsuspecting lemon - the dude was cocky beyond belief and a jello brain. I know Grace has a reputation to uphold, but even I had a hard time wondering why she’d agree to be his arm candy for the whole evening. At least Aaron had a decent personality; he wasn’t the type of guy to use you or text with _ ulterior _ motives. He treated girls with respect which, compared to Leo, was a big upgrade from the guy who spent nearly the whole evening with his hand on Grace’s ass.  _ Why on earth would she want Leo? _ I truly couldn’t fathom.

The day before the event, Grace told me she was thinking of pawning Aaron off because, and I quote, “His last name would look too ugly next to mine in the yearbook.” That made absolutely  _ no sense.  _ Our class headshots are alphabetical so  _ neither  _ boy would be next to her in the yearbook. Unless…  _ Grace was vying for Class Couple _ …

Later that day I sat on my twin-sized bed, reading a few passages of a research text on anatomy Ms. Wilcox recommended to me last week:  _ Gray's Anatomy for Beginner Students _ . Through my lashes I could see Grace pacing around outside our door and around the upstairs landing, exclaiming experlatives into her new iPhone;

“Aaron, you should take my sister Jo! She _ literally _ looks like me, just pretend it’s me in all the photos!”

A deep muffled voice radiated from the speakers; “But she’s not  _ you _ . You’re completely different.”

_ Thank god for that _ .

“She’s a…” Grace struggled with the words, “..decent person; you’ll totally have fun! It’ll be like a double date and all!” She said in a sweet tone, sugarcoated in hollow promises. 

When she hung up she bounded back into our bedroom with a pleased smile. In a sing-song voice she relayed, “I got  _ you _ a date.” 

As always, she acted like she was doing me a favor.

Every single day of my life I have been put through the ringer; nothing has ever been as  _ black and white  _ as I was brought up to believe. 

Everything I have faced has made a stronger woman.

Everything my parents have groomed me to be has been a lie.

Everything I have done has led me  _ here _ . 

Here with the rugged assurance of the paradisiacal man sleeping beside me in a blissful purgatory. 

  
  



	4. Diagnostics Principles

Not that long ago, I sat across from my mentor, sipping on an espresso romano beside the dew-fogged window of Derry Roasters. The sun had just barely arrived, graciously meeting me at the cozy cafe. My shift was early that day, and instead of taking the luxury of sleeping in, I bounced out of bed at the crack of dawn to meet him here, the two of us taking any spare time we had figuring out a frustrating case aided by the bitter caffeine.

Our theories became fruitless without some additional cite material, so we talked - chatted like colleagues who were slowly becoming friends. 

_ “Observation is key to our work as diagnosticians,”  _ he said as we watched other patron’s begin to file in and start on their own daily grind.

He took a long drag of his double espresso and watched as my forehead crinkled, the words sounding eerily familiar. 

He caught on, seeing the wheels turning as I came to my realization, “What are you thinking?” There was a small divot nestled between his brows as he waited fatefully for my answer. 

I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to recognize the words that sat on the tip of my tongue. “You…” I started, his brows pulling closer together in confusion “You said that same line in your column.”

“What column?” he asked incredulously. 

It was my turn to raise a critical brow at him. “Don’t you remember?” I asked in disbelief.  _ I mean, the man did write the words, how could he forget? _ “The one you did in your residency about key principles? Right before the team was formed.”

“Oh…” The look on his face told me he had no clue what I was talking about. To give himself a bit of time, he bit into his muffin and chewed aggravatingly slowly. “That one?” he finally asked, “How do you even know about that? It's out of print and should have been long buried.” 

I took a rueful sip of coffee in order to hide my betraying smirk. “AP Biology assignment during junior year,” I chuckled lamely before blurting out, “Though, I’ve read all of your articles.” 

He raised another skeptical brow towards the ceiling, his blue eyes shining with amusement, “Really?”

I nodded. 

He let out a short chuckle, “Who knew  that some old words on a print out and full of prime medical anecdotes could stick in someone's mind for over a decade?”

Definitely  _ not  _ me.

***

When my AP Biology teacher, Mr. Gray passed out a double sided article on internal medicine for our whole class to read, I didn’t expect it to mean anything, other than a miniscule assignment that would help boost my grade. 

The exact words Mr. Gray used when handing it out was: “it might help when writing your college essays”. my gears cranked at that sentence; anything and everything that could give me a leg up and an ironclad ticket out of this city intrigued me. He hoped it would give us a motive, even if it was all just medical mambo jumbo none of us would fully understand at the moment. 

I looked down at the off-center photocopy, reading the title in faded black ink;  **Three Key Principles for Physicians.** It was composed by a random doctor by the name of Ethan Ramsey. I perused the article by the budding researcher with little interest -  _ How would a medical journal by a doctor help me apply to economics and pre-law programs? _ With my unfortunate luck, there’d be a pop quiz on it tomorrow, and I couldn't let my GPA suffer from my sheer laziness. 

> **Three Key Principles for Physicians**
> 
> **_Author Bio:_** _Doctor Ethan J. Ramsey, 28, is an actively practicing internal medicine senior resident at Edenbrook Hospital in Boston, Massechuetts USA under diagnostician Dr. Naveen Banerji, 47. The pair will be overseeing the new Diagnostics Unit set to open early-August 2011._
> 
> **_A true expert not only looks at the current, most up-to-date scientific evidence, but also looks at history as a guide. How many times have you heard doctors go back and forth on the health benefits and risks of coffee, something we all drink every day?_ **
> 
> **_We used to believe that bloodletting, also referred to as letting a patient bleed out, as a way to cure an infection. This doesn’t mean that doctors as a whole are not smart. What this means is that expert opinion is and should be considered the lowest form of evidence. That is what our job as a true expert is: to explain biological mysteries to the general population._ **
> 
> **_The first principle every doctor needs to abide by is to_ ** **_ask better questions. A doctor needs to have their patients trust them, open up and see the whole picture. Without the bond of trust, misdiagnoses often occur; and without it, our jobs are harder and cases can be unnecessarily prolonged. There are millions of doctors across the world who all have the same, inevitable mission: to eradicate diseases and restore the optimal health of their community. The thing that separates the flock of notary doctors and baseless physicians, is their ability to pay attention to their patients, listening and asking further questions on any little thing that could cause medical issues. They note not just the obvious, but the small, microscopic details that could be the root of the ailment._ **
> 
> **_Secondly: Understand basic groundwork. It’s your job to be aware of research. Know that the best form of research is a meta-analysis. It’s a combination of studies, not just one, which ultimately allows for the decreased likelihood of chance and bias within the results. Make sure to note that just because a study or analysis is newer, it doesn't necessarily mean it is exceedingly better._ **
> 
> **_Studies that focus on disease markers are not nearly as good as studies that focus on outcomes and developments of disease. No matter what the media tells you is a breakthrough, there is no single study that will influence the field of medicine enough to change the standard of care. It can guide us and can put itself into the context of the entire body of evidence in order to allow us, the doctors, to figure out what the true results are and what they mean._ **
> 
> **_And lastly, third: Do not write off your fellow health professionals who say “I don’t know.” Instead, what you should infer is that your colleague is self-aware, acknowledges their scientific limitations. A doctor who does not know, will recommend you to one who does._ **

Although I really picked and chose what marinated within me, this guy’s column left me with a sense of satisfaction, like a fulfilled void in myself finally feeling mended. It was the same thrill that rushed through my veins last year in Miss.Wilcox’s anatomy class;That same sense of curiosity crawling back up my spine for  _ more.  _ Although his words didn’t apply to me specifically, they were notable for life in general; at least from the morals the inner workings of my wild mind had chosen to live by.

Later that day I sat on my bed reading the words once more, trying to find the perfect relation, my eyes trailed down to the website watermark in the footer of the page. Immediately, I rushed down to our family’s shared computer, typing in the simple eight character password and searching up the name of the website: Introductory Internal Medicine. 

The home page itself introduced me to an endless array of texts with mundane covers ranging from disease indexes to further analyses of anatomy. My right pointer finger scrolled down the bulky grey mouse, skimming through them, searching for that little signal to point me in the right direction. When none of the texts captured my attention, I shrugged and brought the cursor up to the idle search bar, before typing in the name of the man responsible: Ethan Ramsey. 

_ There  _ it was _.  _ The full article and a couple other pieces on diagnosis tactics by him and Dr. Banerji. I voluntarily stuck myself neck deep into the five-page previews, letting Dr. Ramsey and Dr. Banerji pique my interest and explain why medicine and listening are the most important and fulfilling fields. 

And well... that single article that introduced me to the dynamic duo led to another word filled page. And another article and another... From that day on, I spent each ounce of my free time that summer stalking the words of the pair of diagnosticians. 

I couldn’t have predicted that three short years from that inspiring day, that same doctor would publish a textbook that’d be the basis of my medical courses. And, in an odd turn of fate, I’d end up working under him in more ways than one. 

I never thought a small, barely 2,000-word piece of literature could be so influential. 

Little did I know, this was the first conscious decision that landed me  _ here _ . 


	5. Edenbrook

How could a person's essence be ingrained into a building? 

How could a pile of carefully curated bricks, lame strokes of paint, speckled linoleum tiles and every other miniscule detail that makes Edenbrook Hospital unique mean so much to me? 

_ How _ is it possible that even the littlest of things about this building remind me of the people I've grown to love the most? 

Edenbrook can be found in the aura of those I care for most. 

In the eccentric coffee. 

The bitter taste of watered down dark roast from Edenbrook’s cafeteria that’s hard to swallow at first; associated with all those times spent with my friends and my colleagues, laughing and deliberating. It took me a few months to get used to the lasting aftertaste of the caffeinated _ dishwater _ . It took half as long to build up a tolerance and appreciate it’s bold flavor. Like most blessings, in the end it was the eight ounce Styrofoam cup that kept me on my toes and pushed me throughout each grueling day. My silent supporter. It was a phantom that tapped me on the shoulder whenever I started dazing out. Kinda like Jackie Varma; the woman who always stood silently cheering for me on the sidelines. She’s tart, she’s bold, and honestly, she is quite hard to swallow at first. But I couldn’t have faced the many residency struggles without her. You have to get into the habit of drinking in Jackie’s tough love before you can truly let yourself enjoy her company. 

In the harsh fluorescent lights simulating daylight even in the latest of shifts. 

As I shuffle through my work each day I’m supported by the mercury gas vibrating in every indoor ray. Each bulb faithfully guiding me throughout the building, shining without inhibitions; just like Bryce Lahela. Uninhibited confidence emitting flawlessly in every room he struts into. He’s an angel, always guiding me in my darkest moments. His light amber eyes with a halo of green around the iris, and his megawatt smile, he could always bring solace to anyone, really. His strong assuring whispers warm the top of my hair, always confident and guiding while he rocks us back in forth in a tight embrace.  _ Don’t _ even get me started on his hugs. His muscular arms radiate a gentle warmth and security, a distinctive scent of coconut and amber coming off of his sea-green scrubs. His embrace never fails to fend off the monsters that threaten to shake my sensibility. Bryce: the guiding lights, projecting and gluing all eyes ahead on all the action and comforting as many people as possible; and through all his assurances he’s closed off behind the grate and only open for a select few. 

The inpatient rooms. The best Edenbrook has to offer begins and ends with the inpatient rooms. With Elijah, reminding me of how we all have pasts we must carry with us grinning and bearing the struggle. Elijah is sweet and lovable, trying to be there as a home alternative in this foreign place. He gives and gives. He’s a pushover, a survivor, and spent his fair share in one of these rooms. He  _ always _ gives patients the best advice on how to turn it from sterile to an enjoyable almost-vacation like room. He’s an optimist.

Every bit of the 300,000 square foot edifice is synonymous with my friends. For most people, their place of employment is just a location with people you’re forced to see and interact with. But for me it's my realm; the house where I cultivated a family I didn’t know I needed. Most would expect that spending countless of arduous shifts at a  _ hospital _ , a place that brings both life and death, could make someone never want to step foot into this place of work ever again. And yet, for some reason, I’d never leave the bittersweet building that had grown to become  _ home _ . 

No matter where I am in my day’s grind, I will always need a supply closest.  _ Sienna _ . Sienna, my petite and dearest friend. My tenacious little fighter with the grandest heart, always giving and taking care of those around her without introspection. Kind and caring, arms always outstretched and waiting to offer a place of solace. 

Each and every day I bounce between my two newest allies: Rafael and Aurora. 

The free clinic has Rafael all in its bones. Selfless, strong and insightful, a staple in the community. He puts his life at risk for others, doing all he can to help. I don’t spend nearly as much time there as I used to, but I know if I was ever in a pinch I could find security within my clinic. 

The Emergency Room. Aurora is the ER. Important, busy, stoic, scary and yet the most important place. She’s hard to love but comes to the rescue in an instant. It took me nearly a year and a ton of missed opportunities to finally fully appreciate and understand Aurora Emery. 

Lastly, and most unexpectedly, the patient greenhouse. _Kyra Santana_. Alive and confined by her cancer, Kyra still thrives. Just as the plants and small flowers in the greenhouse, she keeps growing. She is rooted into the hospital, bearing the burden of the weight of the brick built building with an everlasting smile. 

Edenbrook had become the abode where all my major life events took place. In a few short years, this pile of carefully curated bricks was the catalyst for my major life events. It was in those very hallways where I fell in love with the people, the patients, with the job, with myself… and with someone  _ unexpected _ . __

While my friends gently remind me of why I’m here and supported.  _ He’s _ Edenbrook. The entire building looming over me, supporting me, judging my every motion. He’s the voice in the back of my head.  If my family were the physical areas of the hospital, he was its essence.  The ventilation, the walls, the logo. He’s the four points of the cross and his eyes as radiant as the blue.

The southernmost point of the cross is his stern, focused side. The bully that keeps everyone at arms’ length. Scrutinizes and expects nothing but the best. I first met that side of Dr. Ethan Ramsey my first day as an intern. After performing a lifesaving incision he preceded to call me incompetent, lazy and superficial. That day I was _so_ _mad_ at myself for thinking that this man I idolized wouldn’t disappoint me. _Oh how wrong I was_. 

Then there’s his soft side, the left point; the one which I first saw when my hand shook with the scalpel that day. When he placed his calloused palm on the top of my knuckles, his blue eyes looking into my greens, gently encouraging me to make the incision. The same softness I briefly encountered that sleepless evening watching over his newborn namesake. The side who deliberated in front of a vending machine debating what treat to buy a patient. The one I saw on the balcony in Miami and then at my trial. 

And then I saw his critical, professional side. The right point of the cross and the one closest to his heart. It’s the side of Dr. Ramsey that grilled me for almost killing my first patient but then gave me the time to make a proper diagnosis. The one I saw when he assigned the PITA. The one I saw when he pushed me to my limits and challenged me every day. The man I saw as my mentor. The one I saw when he told me we had to stay professional all those months ago; but we both know we are inevitable. Being  _ here  _ with him was inevitable. Even when he tried so strictly to keep his resolve he always held me close, his arms wrapping around me like the wings of Edenbrook blue.

The last and most vulnerable side of Ethan Jonah Ramsey was a rare sight to see. It’s the right hand point closest to the heart. I think the first time I _truly_ saw _Ethan_ was in Miami. Before then, I had encountered Dr. Ramsey plenty of times. But that night in Miami, filled with a salty ocean breeze was when I _saw_ him. He wasn’t the guarded man with the stern face, furrowed eyebrows and fingers planted on the bridge of his nose. He was Ethan, the one with Atlantic blue eyes, so deep that I felt as if I was sinking slowly into them, drowning in him like the Titanic. He was the man whose lips got to know mine. The broken man I saw when Naveen was on the brink of death. Rooted deeply in this side is all that he hides - his childhood trauma, his true feelings, his unencumbered happiness. The side I’ve slowly been allowed to see. Ethan as who he really is when stripped down to his core. That man who’s had 10 years of life and dating experience longer, the man who doesn’t talk much about his past unless it’s under small non-committal circumstances. 

Being  _ here _ , I can see him as he truly is.  __

Then as time progressed I never really understood how a person could be ingrained in the walls and air of a building. How every turn could cast a shadow of their lingering form? 

How could I have let someone mean so much to me that I stopped seeing Edenbrook for what it really is and… 

_ And it’s just a bunch of walls _ . 

Like him and like me, a collection of walls guarding the human condition. 

The more I think about it, the more I realize Edenbrook is what brought me  _ here _ but it’s not the reason I stayed. 

I stayed for them. I stayed for him. I stayed for love. 

But is it enough? 


End file.
